Taking Charge: Alfred's Compromise
by AiyokuSama
Summary: Jason flu won't go away. And neither will a certain scheming butler.


The floor is clean. Disgustingly clean. So clean it and the rest of his no-longer dingy apartment sparkles. That is just so wrong, his fuzzy thoughts inform him. Part of Jay is mildly amazed he managed to make that much sense within his own mind, what with the fever, the body aches and the general misery of his existence.

Two hours ago, Alfred had swooped in and taken charge of well, everything. It seems that Tim made good on his threat of finding someone to look after him while he's sick. You just don't say 'no' to Alfred. Well you can, but it won't get you anywhere. It definitely won't get you a popsicle, he reflected as he savoured his orange flavoured prize.

He's eaten a little and none of it has made a reappearance, which is a really good thing, especially since the bathroom is all the way over there. He's been dosed up with various pills in an effort to get a handle on his symptoms. The damn fever is being quite stubborn and has refused to break so far, which resulted in more tsking from the proper Englishman. However, Alfred also pointed out that his patience's temperature isn't worrisome as of yet so yeah.

Then he started cleaning as Jay dozed fitfully. The background noise of his activities made interesting fodder for the second Robin's dreams. Being chased by vindictive, oversized kitchen utensils has to be a first.

He closes his eyes. The dirty clothes are in bags, waiting to be laundered. Take-out wrappers and beer bottles have since been removed. The floor is freshly swept and he wonders where the boom came from. Still he hears the man muttering about filth and atrocious living conditions. Well, what did people expect? He's existing off the grid and to that end is currently squatting in a condemned office building. He managed to hijack some power for his needs, but that's about it. There's a hot plate, a mini fridge, a kettle and apparently a toaster. No running water, but whatever. Lots of places around where he can take care of things and bottled water is safer then what comes out of the tap in this town anyhow.

That cavalier attitude is about to come back to haunt him.

He's in his cocoon of blankets on the couch, licking the last of his popsicle off the stick when he notices Alfred coming towards him with the largest bread bowl he's ever seen. Jay knows that isn't something he found in the "apartment." The bowl is steaming? When the man sets it down beside the couch he can see that it's full of water and a cloth?

Unfocused blue eyes glance at the butler with open puzzlement. The puzzlement tripled as the man reached to tug at the blankets. "Time for your bath, Master Jason," the Englishman informs him with something of a long suffering air.

Did he just say ? No. Oh hell NO! Jay clutched the blankets tightly around himself, trying to curl up into a ball. He's shaking his head, his panic making him forget that the movement probably isn't a very good idea. "Nonononono!"

Alfred coolly regards the young man before him. While the Red Hood might be a fearsome outlaw in his own right, that one isn't here right now. Instead he's dealing with an ailing, petulant little boy in a grown body. A body that is ripe with it's own sweat and stinking to high heaven. "Yes, young man. You need to be washed and get into clean clothes. And since there is no running water in this rat hole you call home, it shall have to be this way."

This can't be happening. This so can't be happening! True the man used to stitch him and Bruce up after particularly nasty encounters, but that's not the same! It's really not. Besides, it's Alfred and that is so not the person he wants handling his body parts with a washcloth!

The man keeps pulling at the blankets but not hard enough to break his grip, which is a good thing since Jay would probably end up with some busted fingers in the process. There is an exasperated sigh and then the hands stop tugging.

"Master Jason, be reasonable. You have nothing I have not seen before."

That's it, never mind the fucking flu, he's going to die of embarrassment. He clings all the tighter to the blankets, still shaking his head. There is another sigh and something muttered about fools and their pride. Then everything is quiet, Jay almost thinks the other has left, which would be a good thing he tells himself. Yet, when he glances over the butler is still standing there, arms crossed and a look of tired, practised patience on those long, thin features.

"No sponge bath," Jason grits out adamantly. Alfred only lifts an eyebrow. Oh he really should have taken the clue for what it was. He's in so much trouble.

"The only other option, young sir, requires proper facilities; something you do not have here."

The calm reason of the words penetrates his fever fogged mind and he grasps them like a life line. "Somewhere else," he manages. He can compromise in the name of saving what dignity he has left. Given his current condition, that really isn't much.

"Do you have another bolthole? One that actually has running water?" The unspoken contempt for the woeful lack of such a basic necessity is a palatable thing.

Uh, he tried to think. He knows that he had another one lined up for when he had to leave his current location. Planning ahead is just part of basic survival, but he can't even recall the location of the next safe house, let alone if it had running water. He's thankful that the blankets are covering most of his face, flush as it is with something other then the fever.

"I see." Alfred sounds both unsurprised and utterly despairing of entire situation. "In that case, I shall procure you appropriate accommodations. But, there is a condition that you must agree to." The man is actually shaking a finger at him and it's really hard to do anything but watch the ridiculous gesture.

"You are not to leave as soon as you decide you are feeling better. You must promise to use it as your primary residence for a minimum of three months."

What? The old bastard is trying to set him up! "Not going to the Manor!" He gasps out, furious and horrified. Why can't they get it through their thick skulls that he's not part of that any more? They might want to play family, but that's not his scene. Not now or ever.

Alfred gives a derisive little sniff. "Certainly not. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of the upholstery? No, I shall find you something better suited to your chosen lifestyle, Master Jason. Now, do you agree to my terms?" Calm slate blue eyes regard him dispassionately, simply waiting. From the looks him, the man is perfectly willing to stand there until the end of time if need be.

Damnit, now he's getting a killer headache on top of everything else. As if thinking hadn't been hard enough to begin with. Still the man stands there, arms folded, far to composed for Jay's peace of mind. It's really not fair. At all.

But what could he do? Well, he could refuse to go anywhere, but then the man would just insist on giving him the bloody sponge bath. Afterwards he'd no doubt extract his revenge of some subtle way or other. Probably over the course of a few months. He'd rather fight the Joker, Killer Croc and Bruce then deal with a vengeful Alfred.

Still, he knows it's a set up. It has to be, and he just wants to scream. This isn't fair! He's sick, his head is all icky and his body HURTS!

Not that he's in any shape to do something about the situation. He settles for trying to glare painful death at the man only to be given the raised eyebrow treatment again. Sick or not, Jay isn't about to give up that easily. "Why?" The word comes out as a hoarse croak. Licking his lips, he gave it another attempt. "Why does where I live matter to you?" he spat out the last few words and immediately felt ashamed. Alfred didn't deserve his anger. The man had never been anything but kind to him.

To make things worse, Alfred's expression softens. "Your wellbeing is important to me, Master Jason; it always has been. There is only so much that I can-that you will allow me -to do for you. I try to respect your choices, the path that your life has taken and hope that at some point, when you are ready, you will come back to us. This, however, does not stop me from being concerned for you." He sighs and sounds as old as he truly is. Old, tired and heart sick. "So please, take pity on an old man and allow me to do this much at least."

Jesus fucking CHRIST! That that .it's just not possible for him to say 'no' when confronted with that little speech. Or the raw emotion on the man's face. Alfred so doesn't play fair.

Before he can think too deeply on the consequences, he feels his head nodding. But the man is still standing there, looking at him. Jay tries again, "Alright. I agree to your terms." It's comes out as a rather sad, reedy sound, but well damn.

Alfred allows a small, genuine smile to curve his lips which makes his eyes dance. "I am very glad to hear it, young sir." There is something about the way the man says it which implies that the outcome had never been in doubt. "I shall go and make the arrangements." With that the butler heads back into the kitchen, leaving the damn bowl and cloth beside the couch, mocking him.

He has so been played. But Alfred smiled so maybe the world wasn't that bad after all. At least the Replacement wasn't around to see any of it. He frowns as something occurs to him: freaky stalker boy probably has his place bugged. Again.

Without meaning to, he drops back into a fitful doze and doesn't even manage to listen in on the phone calls. Not good at all. When he opens his eyes again, his apartment looks even emptier. That can't be right. Oh, the bags are gone. Hopefully his clothes hadn't been summarily tossed in the trash. He goes through enough as is.

The prim butler comes in the front door and smiles at him. "I have your new dwelling ready. Is there anything you require we take with us at this moment?" That man is too buggering chipper, it makes Jay's teeth itch.

I'm screwed, I'm screwed, I'm screwed

"Uh." Thinking really shouldn't be this much hard work. "My laptop," he decides, hoping the words were at least a bit more then a whisper. Everything else is already locked up and can wait until he's healthy enough to come back. Like his guns and the other toys that he probably shouldn't handle until he's sure he's not going to have an embarrassing case of the dropsies.

"Of course," the man smiles and hustles off to retrieve the specified device. Jay tried to recall if he'd turned it off. It should be, hopefully. He really doesn't want to get up and deal with the computer's security systems. Thankfully, such seems to be the case when Alfred returns with his system in hand.

He closes his eyes again and is pretty sure that he didn't fall asleep this time. The moon is in the same position out the window. However there is a hand on his shoulder, just touching, waiting for him to respond. Did he really have to, a part of his mind demanded plaintively. It's just so much easier to hide in the darkness behind his eyelids. Of course, he still hurt but at least in the dark there is the possibility of sleep.

He rolls his head over and feels the muscles of neck pull. Alfred is there, looking down on him with that infuriatingly gentle expression. "Everything is in the car. If you're ready, I'll help you down."

Jay clamps his teeth around his protest that no he is not ready. Never mind that he's not entirely sure he can stand, let alone walk; he's seriously regretting having agreed to Alfred's supposed compromise. It grated having someone else tell him where he'd be living. Since the Pit shocked his mind back into him, he'd been doing just fine on his own, thank you very much.

Yet, he's already trying to sit up, despite all the mental griping. "No stairs." Walking on a level surface will be hard enough. Jay can feel Alfred's questioning look at the back of his head. "Service elevator works."

There is a bemused sound as surprisingly strong hands help to detangle the blankets from him. Belatedly he realizes that his sweat shirt is damp and that jeans really aren't the best thing to be laying around in.

"You don't have something as basic as running water, but you have a working lift," the butler muses as he helps the ailing young man to a proper seated position on the couch. Jay is only in stocking feet and that certainly won't do. Of course, Alfred already has the thick biker boots, which are Jay's preferred foot coverings, at hand. He gently works to slip first one then the other one, noting the steel toes and heels with approval. The rest of the young man's nightly ensemble was distressingly lacking in proper protection.

It feels like there is a barrier between his mind and the sensations of the world around him. Jay is vaguely aware that he's being dressed, first shoes then a warm coat. That isn't his leather jacket, it's warmer for one thing, but beyond that he can't really focus. Oh man. Couldn't he just lay back down?

"Come on then," Alfred instructs, reaching an arm under Jay's shoulders to support him. "Lean on me and I'll do most of the work."

Jay nods, but still tries to support himself, which is doomed to failure from the start. He's a little amazed that the Brit is handling his added weight so well, but then, Alfred has always been full of surprises. The walk-more like a prolonged stumble, actually-to the car is something that he really doesn't want to remember. Ever. Being laid up by some nut job out for his blood is one thing, but the flu? It's humiliating.

He tries hard to stay awake during the ride over, so that he at least knows where he is, but the back seat of the Rolls is extremely nice to his achy body and the window is cool against his feverish cheek. Once more, he finds a hand on his shoulder and his traitorous eyes closed. Fuck.

It took a couple of tries to be able to focus on the world around him. His first thought is that Alfred has an interesting sense of humour. They are not far from Crime Alley, the place where it all started so long ago. But, no. Looking again, he realizes they are still in New York, in an area that is really indefinable as anything other then neglected. It could have been commercial buildings at one time, or apartments or just about anything on this little stretch of street. Now it just looks tired, which matches Jay's mood perfectly as he scooted along the back seat and let Alfred help him out.

By the time he's standing upright, he's breathing hard, and not in the good way. Once more he's putting most of his weight on the other as they headed into a little three story brownstone building that might actually look nice if anyone thought to give it a bit of a face lift. As it is, the place looks more or less deserted, much like the rest of the street, which is just odd for this town. Even in the early hours of the morning there should have been some kind of activity, some sign of life.

He shrugs it off. Think about it later, he counsels himself, when you have a couple functioning brain cells.

It's a bit of a surprise when Alfred escorts him around the side of the building, through a tight little alley. They are going in the back way, he realized belatedly. Of course. Given who the man works for, it only makes sense that he'd show proper discretion when installing Jay in his new digs. His legs were not happy, though, since they are trying very hard to be something closer to jello. Thankfully this building also has an elevator, a very good thing since they are apparently heading for the top floor.

When the doors open, it's into a spacious modern living area with an airy, open floor plan and double height ceilings. If he'd had the breath to do so, he would have given an appreciative whistle. As it is, getting enough air into his lungs to finish trudging to the back of over sized loft is about all he can manage.

Then he's being lowered down and oh, soft. He's sitting on a real bed, the covers turned down and ready to embrace his aching body. He lays a little awkwardly, his legs still dangling over the bed. Hands are taking the boots off and get him properly straightened out in the little piece of heaven he's found. This is maybe worth it.

Once more he's asleep.

It's probably a good thing is he is sick. That way, when he wakes up he can't just throw himself off the strange bed and do something stupid, like cold clock Alfred as he walks into the room with glass of juice on a fucking silver tray. Instead he concentrates on not groaning as he franticly tries to recall current events, separating them from the god damn fever dreams. Bruce smiling and telling him everything would be fine, was a dream, right? Has to be, he huffs to himself.

Okay, this isn't his place and Alfred is here. They, oh yeah, they'd made a bargain. He glances around, reassuring himself that he's not at the Manor. This room is too contemporary, and not nearly lush enough. Nor is that a complaint. Instead it feels like his mind stutters as he looks around, taking in the sparse furnishings. Quality, functionality, oak instead of teak for example, simple lines instead of intricate artistry and there is no art on the walls. There is a kind of expectant feel, as if the room is just waiting for someone to personalize it.

"Ah, you're awake, very good," the studious butler announces as he reaches a hand down to feel Jay's head. A small frown briefly pulls at his expression then it's gone. "We can try some more Tylenol on that fever." Of course he has a little bottle of pills on the tray. Jay tries to reach for them only to see his own hand trembling. That can't be good.

Alfred sets the tray down, just out of reach and makes swatting motions at Jay's offending hand. "We also need to see about getting you that bath, Master Jason. Though I dare say that it's probably not a good idea for you to be left on your own."

What? Wait didn't they already go through this? The whole reason he's here is so that he could avoid the indignity of having the old butler well He scowls. The expression is noted, but Alfred doesn't seem to be in any hurry to address it.

The glass of water is pressed into Jay's hand. Thankfully it's only half full or he might have slopped the contents all over himself on it's way to his mouth. He had no idea he was so thirsty and doesn't hesitate to hand the now empty glass back to the man. Jay struggles to push himself up into a sitting position and is eternally grateful that the man doesn't try to help him. His pride has taken enough of a beating already.

Two white pills are pressed into his hand and there is another glass of water being held out for him. Dutifully he swallows them down. It's probably a mark of how sick he is that he doesn't question it, even though he's habitually scornful and distrusting of everything associated with Bruce.

"Shall I call Master Timothy, or Master Dick for you?" the impeccable butler wanted to know.

Huh? For a moment, Jay isn't entirely convinced the man is speaking English. What on earth is he talking about? His confusion must be written all over his face because Alfred decides to elaborate.

"To help you with your bath. It would be wholly irresponsible to leave you unmonitored," he intones, clearly feeling that his pronouncements are entirely sensible.

Jay stops trying to sit up and instead sinks under the covers again, pulling them up to his chin. The look he casts at the other is somewhere between appalled and mortified. He blurrily realized that Alfred was sticking to the letter of their agreement: it wouldn't be the old butler handling his man bits. Not that the other two options are much better.  
"Or Master Bruce, perhaps," he suggests lightly.

Jay struggles out from the covers with a strangled squawk. It's so not going to be Bruce! "Call Dick!" he gasped franticly. Yeah, he can handle Goldie, right? At least there's a chance he can fluster the man and piss him off, which is always fun. The Replacement would just go all freaky clinical on him and be a total pain in the ass.

Wait is Alfred smirking at him? Before he could get a better look the man turns and heads out of the room, presumably to call the eldest Robin. He groans. Why is life so unfair to him? And why won't this damn fever break?

He's asleep. No, he's not asleep, he's awake because he can feel someone standing way too close. Jay's first thought is to strike out, hurt the person then find out who it is. The only problem with that idea is it requires his body's cooperation, which is not happening. Jay settles for cracking open one sleep crusted eye.

It's official. The universe hates him.

Having pulled a chair over next to the bed, Dick is sitting there leaning on his knees looking at him and grinning like an idiot. Well, at least he's consistent, his mind supplies randomly.

"Hey Little-Wing," the man greets him warmly as soon as he notices the open eye. "Alfred said you asked for me to come and help."

Asked? ASKED? Is that what the old fart was calling it? He scowls fiercely at no one in particular.

"So uh how can I help?" Dick wants to know, still smiling, damnit.

The former Red Hood sighs. Well the sooner it's over with, the better, right? But he is so putting the blame where it belongs. "Alfred says I need a bath, but I'm not safe on my own." Okay, Dick blinking owlishly is actually pretty amusing. The smirk that crosses his face a moment later is definitely not. "Don't you DARE get any ideas, Goldie. You'll sit outside the tub and are only there to make sure I don't drown," he rasps, his voice getting grittier as he talks. Oh, some more water would be nice.

Dick seemed to clue into that want as he pours some from the pitcher on the night table, offering him the glass, then thinking better of it. Putting it back down the man stands and moves to help Jay into a sitting position. Ouch. Yes, 'ouch' is the right word for the way his body is protesting. He starts swearing a blue streak at Dick since trying to swat his hands away only hurts more.

"Stop being such a baby, Jay-bird," Dick admonishes and then gives him a fucking kiss on his forehead!

"Back off Goldie!" He snarls with as much menace as he can manage given his atrocious situation.

Of course the man just smiles at him. "Just checking you for fever. You feel fine, by the way."

Huh, he does to. Well that's something at least. But he still has an annoying acrobat in his space pressing a glass of what in his hand? Uhhh. With a scowl he takes it, needing to wrap both hands about the glass to keep it from shaking too badly.

"Hmmm," Dick broods. "Alfred probably has a point you know." For a moment Jay is lost then the realizes that his idiot older brother is watching how he's trying hard not to shake. Damnit.

"Shut up, Goldie." He might have to put up with him being here, but he really doesn't have to listen to him prattle on. With a huff, he drinks the rest of his water and then shoves the glass in Dick's face when the man moved to try and pick Jay up. "I can fucking walk!"

There is a surprised look and the hands come up defensively, but the smile never leaves. Infuriating asshole. Why had he picked him? Bruce, Alfred the sick young man shutters violently. Right, best just to get it over with.

He slips out of bed, almost literally when his legs threaten to give out. Then there are hands at his hips, supporting him. Goddamn touchy-feely bastard! But he pretends not to notice. Don't react, don't give him the satisfaction. Oddly enough though the man is perfectly quiet as he helps Jay to the on-suite, which is well fuck. He can feel his eyes widening just a little. Alfred had promised not to take him to the Manor, right?

Actually, it's pretty obvious that he's not at the Wayne family's ancestral home, as the room just isn't opulent enough, but its a damn sight nicer then what most people see outside of those home reno shows. There is a tasteful green marble vanity with two sinks and a mirror covering the entire wall. In one corner is what he thinks is a shower stall, but it's huge, you could easily fit five people in there and not have to be to cozy about it. The black bath with Jacuzzi jets is on a similar scale and Jay has a new appreciation for the possibility of his drowning. There is even one of those funky ergonomic, ultra water efficient toilets and more marble tiles under his feet. Someone has seen to it that there are fluffy, oversized forest green towels and wash clothes as well as soap, shampoo and really just everything. Alfred has obviously been here.

Dick lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "He sure found you some nice digs." Jay can only nod his agreement. Maybe the universe didn't hate him all that much? The question is shelved as Dick moves to seat him on the closed toilet then heads to the bath, starting the water running. That monstrosity is going to take a while to fill. "So how'd he get you to agree to this. I've been offering to have you room with me for the past two months."

Jay just glared. There is no way he's ever admitting that one and the old coot had better not say a word either. He lets himself smile a little. It's an empty threat, since Alfred would die before revealing that little secret.

"Well it's nice to see you out of that dump," Dick pronounces as he tests the water, again. "I mean, that place wasn't sanitary, Jay-bird. And we couldn't even have a decent house party." The middle brother snorts at that idea, like it would ever happen. Dick seems to feel the need to fill the space between them with words. Not a surprise. "And this place is really nice. You probably haven't had a chance to look around, what with being sick and all, but it's huge. Really. We're on the third floor here, there are two others below and it's all part of your place. You have the whole frickin' building! Alfred really went to town, too, the second floor is a combination gym and dojo with everything under the sun. And the first floor is a garage. I think there is a basement too, but I haven't looked."

Wow. Honestly, just, wow. Exactly how long has Alfred been plotting this? There's no way in hell he could have had this all put together in the few hours between Jay's agreement and their arrival here. He almost considers that maybe Alfred arranged for him to contract this god awful flu just to put things in motion. Naw, that's a bit much.

And still Dick is yakking on, extolling the virtues of his new home. Home? He hadn't thought of the last place as a home. Jay hasn't really applied that label to anywhere except That line of thought gets squashed ruthlessly. Beside, the tub is half full.  
Something occurs to him. "Goldie, hey Goldie." It took the other a moment to actually shut up and look at him. "Go get some dish soap."

The perplexed look doesn't leave Dick appearing to bright. "Dish soap?" He's glancing around. "There's body wash and a bar of soap, you don't-"

Jay cuts him off impatiently. "Dish soap. Go." He points to the door and glares until the man moves, shuffling actually, to find the needed item. With a sigh of relief he leans back, closing his eyes. It's been a long time now since he returned to Gotham, since he made it his mission to be a pain in Bruce's ass and smack his idiot brothers around a little bit. Somewhere along the way things just kind of settled? He's not sure, but things that seemed important gradually became less so and for the most part he just wanted to be left alone to live his own life. He only killed the occasional drug pusher he found hanging around this or that school.

Then Goldie started showing up. When he wasn't being pestered by his eldest brother, the youngest took to hanging around, just being there. It was irritating as hell. In short the pair have been doing their best to what? Include him? Piss him off? They are definitely managing the latter. Oh fuck it, his head really isn't up to thinking about this.

Dick strides back in with a bottle of bright pink something. Oh, this can't be good. But beggars can't be choosers. "Dump some in the bath and switch on the jets," he instructs.

Oh hell, the ass is grinning again. "Why didn't you just say you wanted a bubble bath, little brother? I bet I can find a rubber ducky for you, too."

"Shut up, Goldie." Yeah, they are very effective at pissing him off.

Snickering, Dick dumps some of the soap in. Jay gets a whiff of grapefruit. It could have been worse. He has to grab the counter to haul himself to standing and manages to get half way to the bath before Dick is there, picking him up and sitting him on the counter.

Before Jay can even blink the man pulling off Jay's vaguely damp sweat shirt. "Dick, back the fuck OFF!" Okay so that didn't quite come out as the yell he intended, it's the thought that counts, right? Dick gets the shirt off him. So much for the thought counting.

"You aren't going in there dressed, and you know you'll fall on your head if you try yourself."

Damn, that sounds far too reasonable. But, it's Dick. "You grope any part of me and I will break every bone in your hand," he promises in a low dangerous voice.

Dick leans back on his heels and looks at him, long and slow. It's not sexual, it's just considering he hopes. Then the man nods and raises two fingers. "Scouts Honour." Jay refrained from pointing out that Dick was never a boy scout. He did however behave himself as he undressed his successor. He then helped Jay to the bath, carefully keeping his hands above the waist.

Much as he hates to admit it, Alfred is right, he does need someone with him. This is made abundantly apparent as he almost slips, trying to get into the bath. Stupid bubbles. Dick is right there and catches him carefully, supporting until he can get himself settled in the bath. It's absolutely heavenly: warm, soothing and so luxuriant. On top of it all, there are more then enough suds to spare his modesty. He leans back, discovering that the tub is perfectly contoured to facilitate just such a position. Oh this is just so good.  
Until the moment is shattered by Dick snickering.

"You look so cute, surrounded by the bubbles, smiling," the man comments, grinning from ear to ear as he sits on the floor watching his younger brother enjoy himself.

Jay scowls. He doesn't smile. Ever. "Shut. Up." The guy just doesn't take a hint! Then amazingly he does. There is a whole three minutes of blessed silence, during which Jay closes his eyes and just soaks.

"We really do want you back, you know," come the soft, almost hesitant words.

Cracking an eye open, he fully expected the man to be joking, but the look on his face is both serious and hopeful. Jay opens the other eye, not sure what to make of this. Dick apparently takes this as a sign that he should keep talking.

"I mean you're our family, Jay-bird. Sure, we might be in the running for most-fucked-up-family-around, but we still care about each other and that includes you."

Aw crap, not this shit again. He sighs and pulls himself up-right so he can give the man the full effect of his scathing glare. "And what makes you think I want any part of your little family, Goldie?"

Dick blinks, as if surprised he's being asked that. "Uh you're here."

"I'm here because Alfred extorted me!" It's not quite a bellow, though only because he doesn't have the energy for it. Just as well, since the acoustics in the bathroom are quite impressive.

"And Alfred got the chance to do so because Timmy and I came over and found you sick," the man continues logically. Oh god, he's actually waggling a finger at Jay in a horrifying and oh so wrong imitation of Alfred. "If you really didn't want to be part of the family, you would have headed for parts unknown, not stuck around my turf. You certainly wouldn't have let Tim and I into that dump of yours. And you DEFINITELY wouldn't honour your agreement of three months with Alfred, but we both know you will."

It had never really occurred to him to welch on their bargain. Now that it's been suggested, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with being ill. Still he frowns, resenting the fact that he can't find a flaw in the older man's reasoning.

"You know that Alfred always gets his way," Jay quietly fumed, trying to pretend he's angry. Just ignore the rest of the conversation, it's safest. For now.

Dick beamed happily. "Oh he does. He's a devious one, alright. With his disapproving looks and cookies for bribes."

Jay nodded and slipped back into the bubbles. Despite himself he smiled. As soon as his stomach is willing to cooperate, he has every intention of raiding the cookie stash.

(END) 


End file.
